Meat
by ParlorGamesToMe
Summary: "They have not even perceived your absence. Had they even detected a single mistake, the ripples would have reached me here far before they even grabbed their weapons." Set after the events of Thor and Avengers.


And you will suffer.

_Hands bound by and mouth gagged, stifling the cries for mercy, so close to dead. _

Covetous.

_We are nothing alike; splinters and shards and pigments of something not yet defined. _

Equality means nothing, not here, for it is unachievable.

Twist and turn and transmogrify into something wrong. Mutate- go, for I have transformed already- it is your turn. Seize the offer.

Find the words to make it right, I implore you, brother, to speak beyond the fabric in your mouth. Power! Who possesses the power now? Love- the fickle emotion created by moronic children- that is what you claim, so imprudently, an excuse to stay close and meddle. Duty, only a sense of duty drilled into your thick, impenetrable skull, keeps you near.

_I know that you can shatter the chains. Try! Fight back, you miserable wretch._

Stay hushed, then. Words do not suit you. Open your mouth and the world watches, rapt, as you speak clumsily crafted nonsense. And they follow, do they not? Follow you, not I!

_Break them. Break them all or bow before me. _

I was meant to be king! Destined and born, bred and raised, the throne should have passed to me. Odin's son, his true son, in your ineptitude, you have cheated me out of three kingdoms. Of Jotunheim, of Asgard, of Midgard, each chance wrecked by your maladroit hands.

_I loved you above all._

Betrayal, nonsense, and finery, the essence wrapped around you, ignorantly, you paraded about. The ultimate champion, the hero of heroes, destined for Valhalla, the bravest, staunchest warrior, they praise you. They sing your triumphant stories and tell the venerable tales. They see only the minute fragments of good inside and disregard the flaws that shaped you. Sycophants have never watched you fall, seen you crawl, felt your blood run down their hands- not like I have. Rationality does not come naturally to you, for wasn't that my domain, the shriveled wretch of a thing by your side, providing counsel? Something unplaceable shone upon you, the same thing that cast me away.

I thought you my brother, my confidante, mine before all else, a part of the same interlocking chain. In that judgment, I proved to be mistaken.

_Struggle against the metal, against the cuffs you used against me so simply, so unabashedly. The blood trickles down your arms. Speak to me and plead, if you are able. _

My humanity has long since fled, knocked out of me by your anesthetized ministrations. No rush of delirious words can retrieve it from the chasm. We were more than this, once, were we not? Though you cannot articulate a thing but muffled noises, I understand that you will not protest this.

I grew and morphed to accommodate you! Not my keen, selfish wants. You! You loved me brother, you beyond everyone, and that did not deter you from casting me away like refuse.

Do not try to claim your dubious innocence. Many classifications of monsters exist, not just my singular representation.

Pretty words flow, my insignificant domain. On and on, I could ramble, here for days. But that is how heroes break free, amongst the cacophonic decries of their captors. How we escaped many a time, how we rose to victory. Learn from it all, or you shall emerge flayed and raw.

_How would you look skinless?_

To just peel it all away, what lies beneath?

_Now, I wonder, how do you kill a god?_

Damned Odin, decreeing that no god can slay another. The Allfather forbids anything worthwhile, a doddering crone unfit to be the throne. No- I am liberated from his thrall. Why deny myself this picturesque pleasure, to watch you shudder, watch you writhe, only to drop, stilled, silenced for evermore?

_Calm yourself, brother. _

Delight in the air you breathe, in the shadows that dance across the floor. Count down until you lay splayed on the floor, spread eagled, ignoble. Death is the true great equalizer.

They will not locate you here, tucked far away. I play my part far too convincingly, the master of illusions, smith of lies, weaver of dissension. They have not even perceived your absence. Had they even detected a single mistake, the ripples would have reached me here far before they even grabbed their weapons.

_I will return._

Down trails, twisted and lost, the dirt directs me onwards, away from you. The doom of the powers- the destruction of the Gods- has not reached us yet. Its sway has yet to entangle us. I will not wait faithfully for Ragnarok. Not while Jormungand lurks, ready to spew his poison, to prevent his demise.

Come, my son, come to me.

The sea hisses in protest. It does not take this violation with grace. A sleek head breaks the surface, extending itself towards my beckoning hands. Clenched tightly in his mouth, the tail marks both the beginning and the end.

Yes, my child. You serve me well. A bone white fang breaks off into my hand. The Midgard Serpent, a hideous product of fevered procreation, sinks downward; wrenched back below by rapacious currents, he waits for Ragnarok.

He has fulfilled my aspirations well. I say no goodbyes, nor do I feel any pang of loss. His time will arrive again, but until the end, he must sojourn beneath the waves. The sea shudders, pained, drawing him back. The earth shakes, but the end has yet to arrive. Pity. What effort it would save. The Allfather's retribution shall strike eventually, the end even I am unable to evade.

It signals something, the tremendous roar of the waves. If the Allfather is truly omnipotent, perhaps you stand an infinitesimal chance.

_Once more, the derelict, worn path escorts me directly to you._

Still bound and gagged, you gaze up at me with bloodshot eyes, curiously lacking the loathing I anticipated. Your head snaps up.

_Destroy the chains._

It is your only option, but instead, you struggle uselessly. Around the fabric in your mouth, you attempt to reason with me. Have you not learned? Your hubris, your faith in the fantastical, long-lost elements of me, still lingers. I am not your confidante, the shade of a creature that followed you. That time has escaped us, the moment unable to be pinpointed, not that the calculations would supply any aid to you.

_Brother, you could have prevented this. You could have chosen me._

You yell through the blood spattered fabric. Several teeth crunch, breaking during the strain. Mjölnir will not locate you here. The triumph shall be mine and mine alone. Outside, the wind whistles, accompanied by irate claps of thunder. They mourn you, brother.

_Calm yourself. No matter how you howl, I will not yield. I am steadfast, I am eternal, I am the side of you that thrashes violently, craving to be set loose. We were forged from the same material._

I take the fang from my pouch, slowly, laboriously, reveling in the presentation. More screams erupt from your lips. The chains clink together, but they do not bend as you throw your weight against them. One of us sobs. I will not reveal who.

I trace the curve of the fang with a single finger. The moment stretches out before us, a fork in the road, destination unforeseen. The spindly threads of time extend in front of me, unraveling and sewn together in the same instant.

The Allfather has yet to meet us here, to intervene and drag you home. Would he bend his iron clad rules for your and scatter me in gory fragments upon the ground?

My choice has been selected for me. Very well, then, time to proceed. I hush you. My finger presses against my lips. Your eyes widen, as if you never truly imagined I would go this far. I stroke your hair tenderly, pushing it away from your wounded forehead.

_You will die looking at me. I want to see you shatter._

The fang burns my hand, acidic. It clatters to the ground. You make no motions towards it, given every opportunity, only to fail. I have no more possibilities to offer you. Before I can even make sense of it, I take the pointed tooth in my hand and stab it deep within. You scream out, body contorted and eyes half-mad. For all your pomp, you acquiesced to my desires like a sacrificial bull to slaughter. No resistance, not truly.

_Inside you, inside you, it works inside you, muddling shapes and colors and sounds, clouding your veins, it moves inside you._

The end has materialized prematurely for us, dear brother. Screech, shout, shriek. Your veins protrude, blue becoming a vivid scarlet, an intense orange, a fierce yellow. The crackle of an inferno on roasting flesh permeates the air. Exquisite. My craft at its finest.

_Meat, you smell like meat._

I can almost distinguish my name emitted from your lips.

The chains fall limp. Broken marionette arms and legs, a wooden puppet body, eyes like unpolished silver, veins shrinking inward, once more blue, you crumple.

_Softly, I kiss your forehead and bid you good-bye. Valhalla awaits._


End file.
